"Things changed after that," Viola said emotionlessly. "My father never returned, as you may have guessed. He's probably still off cavorting with whoever caught his fancy. My mother tried to reconcile with me, I guess, but she was always bitter about how my father left. She was never the same. And I could never trust her again as I did in my naïve days." The words she spoke were weighty, but she seemed to speak them as if they had as little consequence as the weather.
Octavia wasn't as lucky. She was weeping for her friend's plight openly. It was a broken and horrible upbringing Viola had, fraught with lies and broken trust, especially compared to her own childhood. Viola had brought over a box of tissues when she noticed she was tearing up, and Octavia was making judicious use of them. "Oh, my goddesses, Viola," Octavia whispered, "I had no idea."
Viola continued. "Once I grew older and figured out what just happened, I escaped the house as quickly as I could and found refuge in a youth shelter. I completed my elementary education and found a job in the CPO." She stopped there; they both knew the rest of the story.
Octavia sniffled again. She did want to know why Viola was so uptight and why she was the only one who had won her favor, but she didn't know that would entail digging up such painful memories for her. She didn't express hurt at the moment, but she hurt at one point, and Octavia couldn't accept that Viola didn't hurt from the scars. Her earlier reaction to bringing up her parents was evidence enough that that was the case. "I'm sorry for needling you on, and I'm so sorry for asking," Octavia said.
A mere shrug came from Viola. "It's fine. I'm over it now," she said.
"Yes, and perhaps too over it," Octavia said, wiping the last of her tears. "Am I right in saying that the reason you are so . . ." Octavia gestured to Viola and her no-longer-inscrutable-but-still-indescribable personality. ". . . that, is because you've been betrayed in the past, and you won't let anypony do that to you again?" She glanced over to the wall at the same orchestra group picture. "That's why you don't smile, or frown, or cry: you won't let anyone into your heart to get those emotions out," she mused.
Viola shrugged again, not showing any of the emotions Octavia just listed. Not that she expected that she would express them. "Maybe," she said. "It's better this way, anyways. Now, the only pony who can hurt me is myself, and I can trust myself, at the very least," she said.
Octavia sniffled once more and reached for her tissues. It was only two ponies that betrayed her trust, and her mother only for a moment. But they were her parents, some of the most important ponies in one's life, and at such a young age . . . it was a wonder that Viola could still function, let alone act as an older sister to her even before she remembered that was the case. But that brought to mind another question.
"Viola . . . do you not trust me?" Octavia asked.
Viola opened her mouth, but closed it again, not saying anything. She bit her lip.
Octavia pressed on, trying to convince her. "I don't remember much from my daycare days, but ever since I could remember, I always knew you were there for me in your own special way. You were like the older sister I never grew up with. Always distant, but always caring. And don't tell me that you don't care! I know you do!" She reached out a hoof to Viola, as if she could grab her weathered heart and let herself in.
"I-I . . ." Viola looked away. "I don't know."
It was a tiny chink in Viola's armor, but it was a chink all the same: she was unsure, pained, and for once, open, if just a little. Octavia knew this was her only chance. As possibly the only pony left that still had a stake in Viola's heart, she needed to show that she trusted her friend and wouldn't let her down. And that her friend could trust her in return. She wanted to show her friend the joys of life that for so long, she thought she couldn't have. Octavia was the only one who could do it. If she failed, Viola would be lost.
Octavia got up and drew closer to Viola. "I know your parents have made awful mistakes in the past, and I'm sorry for that. But you must know that not everypony is like that: not everypony will hurt you if you let them in." The tears rolling down Octavia's cheeks only showed how desperate she was to break through to Viola. "I know you can't say it, but I know you care for me. And I think, somewhere inside you, you trust me as well. In all the time we've known each other, have I ever done anything to make you think that you can't trust me?"
Viola didn't move, but she clenched her jaw. And when Octavia moved her face to look her in the eye, she saw a hint of fear in them. Viola was normally such a strong mare, never unsettled by anything, and here she was, afraid of love, trust, and the unknown. In that moment, Octavia knew what she had to do. She had to take care of her older sister who, for so long, thought she couldn't have it from anyone besides herself.
"Please don't believe that you don't care for me. Please don't believe that I'm not your friend and you don't trust me. And please, please don't believe that that trust and friendship are only ways for me to hurt you. I won't hurt you!" Octavia used her hooves to direct Viola's head to her own—scared, vulnerable face-to-wet, desperate face.
"I love you, Viola. I want to see you succeed. I want you revel in the joys of that success, rather than let them pass you by." Viola's brow loosened, and she looked as if she was about to break. One more push.
"I know your parents have hurt you gravely in the past, and I'm fighting against the likes of Celestia and Luna now, but . . ." Octavia looked into Viola's eyes with the most determined, desperate, trusting eyes she had ever shown.
"Look me in the eye and tell me I won't let you go!"
It took one half-second for Viola to collapse to the ground, crying for the first time she had in decades. It took two more for Octavia to come to her senses and embrace her friend in return, crying with her, but more overjoyed than she had ever been in recent memory.
It took a bit longer for Viola to respond, but the words that came from her mouth were the most earnest, genuine, and emotional Octavia had ever heard. She was sad that her friend was crying so, but happy that Viola said the words and meant them.
"Please don't go. I couldn't bear it," Viola whispered.
The time they spent embracing each other afterwards wasn't measured in seconds, but minutes and hours.